


Transformers Drabbles

by Redbaron7885



Series: Drabbles [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 11:57:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16492151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redbaron7885/pseuds/Redbaron7885
Summary: Short stories or micro fics. Some chapters maybe have more than one.





	1. Final (Optimus,Megatron)

_We were brothers once._

Sword drawn at his side energon dripping off it he stared ahead. The two of them were far from the main battle, where no one could intervene. This was their battle, alone. Bloodied, bruised, broken, bleeding, they were a mess. He looked up optics catching each other, frozen in time. Red met blue. Light and dark. Good and bad.

_Our worst enemies were once our best friends._

He closes his battle mask and clenches his fist, across him red optics narrow and armor shifts. One would walk away from this, one would not, both determined it would not be him. Swords drawn drenched in blood they charged. Whatever the outcome this would be final. No running, no escaping. It ends here. Their blades clash as history awaits its victor.

_Once, not anymore._


	2. In a better world (Ratchet,Ironhide)

_In a better world they never would have met._

He was the best medic Cybertron had ever seen. He was a weapons and combat specialist.

One gave life, the other took it. They had no reason to ever cross paths.

_In a better world they never would have met._

They were nowhere close to each other, never met, never talked. Yet there was an understanding instantly. One that spoke a universal language, a tale of time, of experience. Realization that they were very similar, the oldest with the most experience. Having lived through many wars, and seen many things.

The medic and the soldier. Two sides of the same coin. Light and dark. White and black.

As Ratchet looked up from the chest injury he finished treating, saving another life their optics met. They’ll survive.

In a better world they never would have met. This wasn’t a better world however, it was a world torn by war. And they met and Ironhide was forever grateful that they did.  


	3. Always (Prowl/Jazz)

Jazz burrowed his face into Prowl’s neck cables tightening his hold on the tactician. In turn Prowl rubbed circles on his back. He was set to go on another long deep undercover mission and wouldn’t be returning for a while. The two of them were hidden away in Prowl’s office, Jazz having marched in and launched himself at his mate.

Leaning against the wall and shifting his hold Prowl kissed Jazz’s helm softly.

“Be safe.”

Jazz looked up into his blue optics before melting in his bondmates embrace again.

_If it means seeing you again._

“Always.”

They stayed like that wrapped in each other’s love knowing it would be the last time they saw each other again for a while.


	4. Remembered (Ratchet)

He stared down at the dead corpse on his examination table; it surprised him they’d been in this war for so long it surprised him. That he just noticed it. Whenever they lost someone it was brushed off, move on. They died doesn’t make it the end of the world. This war had taken so many lives but now when they found a mech dead on the field or on a ship, it was normal, hell it was expected. It was scary Ratchet thought. How easily they brushed off someone dying. Moving on like nothing happened and the war was still there, that the mech or femme didn’t mean anything.

Looking back, servo inches from the light switch Ratchet stared at the mech on his table. The only one he had failed to save. He used to be someone, now he was no one. That was scary. Maybe that would be him someday on that table as someone else did his autopsy. Turning off the lights and hearing the door swish behind him Ratchet sent a silent prayer. He prayed that he lived to see the day when the war was over and he worked in a hospital; that if he failed to save someone’s life- it would mean something. That mech or femme would have someone that missed them and he would hate himself for failing to save their life. That those deaths wouldn’t be meaningless numbers for a tactician to plot and use however they wished. That they wouldn’t just have a number to go by in the morgue.

They mattered but this was war and it was scary how no was remembered.


End file.
